Ever drawn to the ocean, the little roan travels across the sands easily, the dying golden sunlight pooling in her eyes like clear tropical waters, swirling with whatever meager joy that lived in her heart. Those eyes have seen much- far too much, so the sunny sea of her eyes are overcast, darkness swirling over the sparkling surface.

The sands are still warm from the ponderous heat of the day, although the temperature itself is pleasant and cool. Seabirds cry somewhere close; a familiar and welcome sound. Charred ears twitch to meet their voices, and she can hear the greedy cries of a late clutch, nest nestled safely inside a hole in a shelf of stone, shaded from whatever rays of sun there are left.

Evening descends quickly, but Huyana has no intentions of going back to her blackened new home. At least, not tonight.

She draws closer to the frothy fingers of seawater, cloven hooves imprinting easily upon the firm wet sand which had been stroked by the tides. Cool water spills on her pasterns, white foam clinging to her slick black fur. The last golden light of day is reflected on her horn.

A voice interrupts the primal whisper of the ocean and an ear is tilted towards it. It is familiar, the voice of a frost giant, a snow king. Black head lifts, supported by a silvery pale neck, blue eyes bright with curiosity. He is there, a faraway thing; a ghost clad in ermine, water engulfing him. The roan cannot not explain why, but those dark legs begins creeping quietly through the water, wandering ever deeper, until she is chest-deep in cold brine, salt collecting on her fine fur.

He is close, she can see the frosty blue of his eyes, so unlike her own. The FrostHeart is frozen where she flows like riverwater, stoic when her emotions are dynamic. A smile creeps upon her face, a lovely thing. Her body eases before him with little fanfare. "Frozen king," she greets cordially, almost swimming, the water engulfing her entire body, avoiding the base of her neck, soft dark mane dragging on the chilly surface.

The rainchild has known so many kings: her father, the white serpent, the red dragon. Her eyes are sad despite their sparkling. Will this frozen king fail her too? Will he bring the already wounded Edge into battle instead of leading them to peace? "Are you a true king?" The girl asks, not unkindly, although her words might suggest otherwise. She strives to see past lies and glittering smiles to the truth. Will this stranger offer it to her? Or will he be like the others? Only time can tell, she muses with great melancholy, hoping he will set things straight before the truth is lost, like a single raindrop in a vast ocean.